Waking Up
by IndieWrites
Summary: After seeing a vision of Snape's death, and realizing it's yet to come, Harry is determined to stop it. Voldemort is just as determined to do away with the Potions Master. In the midst of it all, Harry begins to question everything he ever knew. HP/SS
1. Visions

_**Waking Up**_

Disclaimer: As much as I wish.. No, I do not own these wonderful characters. They belong to the witch of the writing world: J.K Rowlings. I am simply playing with them.

A/N: This is my first HP fict. I recently fell in love with the Potterverse and have since spent more time than I should reading fanficts of that nature. I'm a big fan of the delicious Snape, Harry and Draco too. Actually, the only character I really can't stand is Umbridge, although, Dumbledore still ticks me off to no end. I also like parts of DH, but feel that Snape's end was unjust. (Another fict dealing with that is in the works.) Hence, I tend to ignore it, or strive to rework it in someway, and I know I'm not alone in that. I hope to bring something new to the table with my take on things. Anyway, enough of my ramblings. Enjoy. Please, no flames. I try to keep them in character as much as I can, however, there is a depth to Snape that I think we weren't really allowed to explore. Also, this will be slash eventually. HP/SS of course. Comments welcome. Thanks!

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**-1- Visions**

"_Kill him." _

_The hiss was understandable to only three occupants in the dumpy room of the broken down shack. Unfortunately, the intended victim was not one of them. Green eyes hidden beneath a shimmering cloak of invisibly widened in horror as the young man realized just whom the large snake was about to kill. Unable to move from his hiding spot, for fear of exposing himself unduly, his fist raised to his open lips trying to stifle the sobbing scream that fought to get free. Uncharacteristic tears streamed from his eyes as he watched the great Potions Master sink to the dirty floor, dust and blood mingling in a hideous varnish, his throat now sporting two gaping holes. As the man screamed, the observer watched as red eyes gleamed with insanity, a skeletal like face stretched in a gruesome grin. Black robes swirled, and the creature and her master were gone. Throwing off his cloak, the young man rushed to the fallen's side, his screaming sobs matching that of his counter part._

"_Don't go, please. Look at me," the fallen man gasped out, his words gurgled with the overflow of his seeping blood. Sinking to his knees, the younger man grasped pale long fingers in his. _

"_I won't. I'm here. I'll stay right here."_

Harry awoke with a start, his limbs shaking uncontrollably. Gasping in large gulps of air, he pushed a trembling hand through his mass of unruly curls, and shot to his feet. A sense of urgency threatened to overwhelm him. Reaching for his Invisibility cloak, he hastily shoved his bare feet into his worn shoes and stumbled across the floor. His friends slept soundly, undisturbed by his movements, and for once he was glad that Ron and company were such deep sleepers. He didn't want to answer questions as to his destination just now.

Carefully creeping down the stairs, he quickly walked across the Common Room floor, only to be stopped by a whispered "Harry?" Pausing, he cast a quick look over his shoulder and let out a sigh as his gaze lit on Hermione sitting in a high-back chair, reading. Concern flashed in her eyes and she frowned.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

Harry shook his head. "Just need some air," he replied.

She nodded in understanding, knowing the stress of their seventh year, and the continuous weight of trying to find the Horcruxes was taking its toll on him. If the dark shadows under his expressive eyes and the paleness to his skin were any indication, she would guess he hadn't been sleeping much, and what little he got was restless. She watched him silently, worry still cast upon her features. She hoped and prayed to whatever gods were listening that soon all this would be over.

Harry's feet made little noise as he navigated the hall corridors on his way to the one place he was sure to find his quarry. At 2:30 in the morning, when most of Hogwarts was asleep, its Headmaster would patrol the halls, looking for any unsuspecting child out of bed. It seemed to delight the harsh man, terrorizing his students with detentions and the like. Harry had been subject to his scowling face and stinging words more than once. Anymore, though, they hardly saw each other, a strange thing to be sure. So with determination, Harry hoped tonight would be different. Looking over his map, he saw the ribbon containing the Headmaster's name floating closer to his position. With a sigh of relief, he stripped his cloak off; waiting.

He was not disappointed. Soon enough, the footstep thumped to a stop and with a billow of robes, Severus Snape halted right in front of him.

"Mr. Potter," Snape sneered, his thin lips curling back in a severe fashion.

Harry raised his eyes and blinked. "Yes?" he asked quietly.

"Might I ask as to why you have taken to roaming the halls at this hour? Isn't your insufferable presence enough during the day? Or perhaps you are sleep walking once again?" Snape asked, his voice lined with thinly veiled disgust.

Harry didn't even flinch. "Actually, Headmaster, I was looking for you." he replied respectfully, not wanting to distress the man further. An eyebrow flew up at his answer, and Snape's face lost some of its anger.

"And why exactly would you be looking for me, Mr. Potter?"

Harry bit his lower lip, trying to decide how to explain what had driven him from his bed this night. "Could we go to your office, sir? I'd rather discuss this in private, if that's okay."

Snape nodded, turning on his heel and marching back the way he had came. Harry, after a sigh, followed under the cloak once again, quickly and quietly. It wouldn't do for one of his fellow students to spot them. He paused a little ways away from the Headmasters office, waiting for Snape to open the quarters. The gargoyle snorted and moved, allowing the two of them to past. Once inside, Harry removed his cloak once more, sinking into the proffered chair. Heaving a deep sigh, he removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes tiredly. Snape sat opposite him, not quite glaring at him across the massive desk. Stapling his long fingers, he waited. Moments of silent stretched between them as Harry strove to find the right words to begin.

"I..er…" he trailed off, grimacing when he saw the irritation bloom on Snape's face.

"Eloquent as always, I see, Mr. Potter. Perhaps you would like to regale me further with this dribble?" Harry shook his head. "No? Then you are here to waste my time. Please show yourself out, and see me for detention tomorrow." With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the young man. His words had the desired effect. Harry's head shot up, and he jumped to his feet.

"Wait, sir, I need to tell you something."

Snape smirked. "Really? I thought that was why you had requested this little tête-à-tête. Now, if you have recovered your sense of speech…" He gestured with his hand and Harry sat back down.

"I had another vision tonight. Or… something like a vision." He scratched his head and bit his lower lip.

Snape leaned forward, his attention suddenly caught. "Like a vision?"

Harry nodded. "It wasn't like the other ones I've had, you know, being there as something is happening. Well, I was, but…"he paused, trying to collect his thoughts.

"What was the difference between this one and your others?" Snape asked quietly, surprising the young wizard.

Harry shrugged tiredly. "It seemed like a dream, or at least…" he trailed off. He frowned, worry lines etching his brow. "No, it was a dream, obviously." He looked up at his old nemesis. "Because you're still alive."

It was Snape's turn to frown, which he did quite darkly. "Because I'm alive? Potter, you're not making any sense. What does my demise have to do with your vision?"

"Your death _was_ my vision. It was like I was seeing what will happen to you, not what is happening." Harry got to his feet and began pacing, waving his hands around in sporadic motions. "I mean, I was there, like I always am in these things, but it was different. I saw you _die. _And it felt so real, and yet… you're here, and just fine." His gaze trailed over the Potions Master frantically, as if he would see some indication that the vision had been of the present and not the future. Shaking his head, he walked up to the desk, slamming his fists down on the top. His eyes wild, he cried out "Why does he keep doing this to me? These damn teases that I can't do anything about. I was too late to stop the attack against Arthur Weasely, or that old keeper at Riddle's Manor. He tricked me with the vision of Sirius. And now this. What's his game?" Fisting his hair, he tugged painfully, resuming his pacing. "Do you know when the last time was I slept? I mean really slept?" He waited for a response. Snape shook his head. "_Years_, Snape. The summer of my fourth year, if I'm correct. I'm so bloody tired."

Snape said nothing, watching the young man before him come apart. Before tonight, he might have reveled in this turn of events, the fall of the Golden Boy. And yet, seeing Harry's fear and panic brought him no pleasure. And the foreshadowing of his death only served to increase his pain. He winced with each tug and twist of Harry's self abuse of his dark locks. Finally, after several minutes of Harry trudging a path through his carpet, he stood. Walking up to the younger man, he placed his hands on his shoulders, halting Harry's progress.

"Stop."

Shocked, Harry did as he was told. Snape directed him back to his chair, and pushed gently on his shoulders.

"Sit."

Harry sank down, his head cradled in his trembling hands. Snape took the seat next to him.

"Tell me everything you saw," he requested, his voice soft and cautious. And so, Harry did, with a shaking voice. Not once did he raise his head to look at the Potions Master, and not once did he see the fear and then sadness cross the man's pale harsh face. When he was finished, he waited silently, his hands clasped in his lap to still their shaking.

Snape fell back in his seat, his eyes closed and his breath hitching in an uncharacteristic show of emotion. "So…" he swallowed. "So that's how it ends, is it?" He chuckled darkly. "Fitting in some ways, I suppose. After all, I am Slytherlin. To be killed by a snake…" he shook his head. Slowly, he composed himself, his mask again secure.

"There's something else you should know, another difference in this one as opposed to the others. In this one, instead of me staying out of the events, I was an active participant."

"What do you mean?" The mask slipped again, and curiosity could be seen flashing briefly in his eyes. Harry continued to look at his hands.

"In the others, I was the snake, or Voldemore. I saw through their eyes. In this one, I was me. And I was by your side after they left. Why do you think that was?" He finally raised his emerald eyes up to Snape's obsidian ones.

Snape shook his head, overwhelmed with the depth of emotions swimming in Harry's gaze. "I wish I knew."

Harry dropped his head again. "Me too. But if it was the future I saw, doesn't that mean we can stop it? Maybe you can make a potion to counteract the poison, Or just stay out of the Shrieking Shack altogether." A hopeful look crossed his face as he looked at Snape again. "Right?"

Snape shoved his hand through his hair, the stringy mess falling back into place immediately. "I don't know, Harry. I'm not sure how your visions work. Especially this one. It really is quite different. Even if I did all of that, the Dark Lord would find a way to kill me off. He's determined when he sets his mind to something, not unlike someone else I know." His smirk was rueful, almost friendly.

Harry nodded, his jaw set and stood quickly. "If that's the case, the I will have to be more determined to not let you die, than he is to kill you. Goodnight, Headmaster." He nodded once more, catching Snape off guard. Snape sat there dumbfounded as the younger man walked across the floor. When Harry's hand touched the handle of the door, he found his voice.

"Harry…"

Harry paused, realizing Snape had called him by his first name. Looking back over his shoulder, he said "Yeah?"

Snape seemed to war with himself for a moment. "Get some sleep will you?"

A small smile lit the beautiful features and Harry nodded. "You too. Nite." A second later, the door swung close, leaving a puzzled Headmaster to contemplate just what had happened, and what Harry would do now. He had wanted to tell the boy off, to rail at him for even thinking of saving the Potions Master. And yet, in the light of the dying fire, Severus Snape had to admit he didn't want to die. And if the Boy Wonder had his heart set on saving him, who was he to say no? Sighing deeply, he had to question just what he had gotten himself into now.

"I'm getting too old for this," he lamented, and then chuckled. "But by no means wiser. Oh, Harry… where will this lead us?"

Only the crackle of the flame and the ticking of the clock answered.


	2. To Trust

Disclaimer: Once again, I haven't a spell of transference figured out just yet. So Harry and his wold remain firmly with J.

Author's Notes: As always, I am overwhelmed and thankful for those who have reviewed/alert/faved this story. It really keeps me going. I also apologize for the late update. I was in a car wreck a few weeks ago, and since then have been fighting a rather deep depression. I hope to have a more regular schedule for updates now. I'm not terribly fond of this chapters, but hope you will all like it.

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**-2- To Trust**

"That's not what I meant, and you know it!"

"Well it sure as bloody hell sounded like that!"

The Gryffindor dorms were awoken to the terse sounds of Harry and Ron's tirade. It was unusual for the two best friends to been seen arguing. But on this cold winter morning, it appeared they were doing just that. And rather loudly. Hermione sat on Harry's bed, her eyes following the volley of barbed insults as they flew almost visibly between the two angry young men. Harry paced, his hands ripping at his curls, his eyes narrowed on his friend and his lips set in a firm and stubborn line.

"It was my dream, so it is my choice what I do with the information. And telling Snape is what I felt was best," Harry bit out, scowling darkly.

"But it's Snape of all people. You know he's a right git," Ron countered loudly, his arms folded defensively across his broad chest as he glowered from his bed. "Honestly Harry, it sounds like you did more than just tell him…"

Hermione's gasp filled the suddenly silent air as Harry stopped in his tracks, his face livid. "Just what are you suggesting, Ron?" he hissed out. "And you might want to think about your answer before you open that big flapper of yours."

Ron shrank back a little, unnerved by the fury broiling in Harry's green eyes. "I.. I just meant…" he stammered before leaving off completely. Harry shook his head.

"You know what, forget it, Ron. Think what you want, okay." He turned to storm off. A soft hand on his arm caused him to pause. "Don't Mione. Just don't." When she didn't respond, he shrugged her off and left the room.

"Brilliantly done, Ron," she snapped, grabbing Harry's invisibility cloak and going after her friend. Ron said nothing, burying his red head in his hands as soon as the door snapped shut.

"Who's the git now?" he whispered.

His vision blurred in a haze of red, Harry moved blindly down the corridor, silently fuming at Ron, Snape, Voldermore and his own stupidity. "Bloodily brilliant one, Harry," he grumbled lowly. In his haste to leave, he had forgotten his cloak, and most importantly, his concealment charm. Those two combined had become the only way he had the freedom to remain unnoticed at Hogwarts. It was ingenious really, the plan Hermione had devised. With the death of Dumbledor the year before, the trio knew Harry could not return to the school safely. It would only be a matter of time before the Death Eaters took over the school of young witches and wizards. And they would be looking for him.

Thus came the dilemma: How did they go about searching for the Horcruxes as they needed to without detection? Harry had first suggested simply leaving school of the year, but with the evidence Snape had inadvertently given him one August evening, he found that option less appealing.

"_I know you don't want to hear anything I have to say," Snape began, when Harry had opened the door of 12 Grimwald Place, his wand trained on the one man he wanted to destroy almost as much as the Dark Lord._

"_Hear, see…No, Snape, I'd rather hex you into oblivion," Harry growled, barely keeping his anger in check. His first instinct was to cast the worst curse he knew. But, as hint of sense crept into his mind, he recalled how well that had turned out last time. Still, he had no reason to let the man in. And so he stood, wand pointed, his eyes wary. Snape nodded, his eyes flashing with surprise and understanding._

"_What's stopping you?" he asked, cautiously curious. Harry lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. _

"_I'd rather remain standing and not flat on my arse." He caught a glimmer of amusement in Snape's dark eyes, and bit back a smirk. "Besides, you came to me. I figure that means something…significant." _

_Snape nodded, finding his reasoning to be sound. Perhaps the prat wasn't such a Potter after all. "We need to talk," he said simply._

"_About?" Harry asked, not moving an inch. Snape cast a look around, caution rolling off him._

"_Can we take this inside? While this place may not be plottable, standing here like this makes both of us prime targets."_

_Cocking his head, Harry smirked. "As if I'm not already." However, he stepped back, keeping his wand leveled at the former Professor as Snape walked in. Snape paused just inside the door, and turned his gaze on Harry. Holding his hand out, his wand lay flush in his palm. _

"_A token of trust, Potter. I'm quite serious about this matter." _

_Harry looked at him with impossibly wide eyes, unsure what move to make. His wand lowered as did his eyes. He understood just what Snape was offering, and accepted his wand. Tucking both wand into his back pocket of his jeans, he motioned with his hand towards the kitchen. Snape moved on ahead, sitting down in a chair at the gnarly old table without his usual flair. Harry set about making tea, wondering at the bizarreness of their situation. He honestly couldn't believe how calm he felt, being in the same room with the man who had killed his mentor not long ago. _

_As the tea pot boiled, he took the time to look at his old nemesis. The man looked down right exhausted. His shoulders stooped as he slumped in his chair, his usual rigidness gone. His hair, string on the best of days, hung limply around his face, part of it hiding the haggardness of his face. He had always been pale, but now, he looked almost dead. Harry, for once in their long and dramatic acquaintance, felt a sense of pity for the harsh man. _

_And then Snape looked up and Harry had to bite back a gasp. His eyes, so fathomless and deep, looked haunted, filled with a deep sadness that Harry only knew all too well. It was then that he realized Snape, this broken and devastated man, was not the man whom had made his life a living hell for the past 7 years. This man looked as if he had killed his best friend. Harry swallowed thickly, holding Snape's gaze. _

_The whistle of the teapot broke the silence, and Harry moved mechanically to complete his task. He took those few moments to try and pull himself back together. The sheer vulnerability he had seen in Snape's eyes was enough to cut him to the quick. Whatever Snape had to say, he was now determined to listen. _

"_I know you have some things you'd like to say to me, and I know I should let you ramble on in your idiotic Gryffindor fashion, but now is not the time for that. Do you understand?" Snape asked finally, clasping the steaming cup of tea in tightly in his hands. Harry sat down across from him, his own cup sitting before him untouched. He simply nodded. Snape appeared relieved. "Good. You have some sense after all." He paused to take a sip, and Harry clamped his mouth shut, squelching a retort. Snape said nothing for a few more moments before sighing. _

"_I know what you and Dumbledor were doing that night. I know about the Horcruxes." He held up a pale long fingered hand, silencing Harry's protests. "He told me, Potter. In fact, he tasked me with helping you find the rest. But to do that, you will have to trust me. Implicitly." _

_Harry blanched, wrestling with the screaming doubts racing through his mind. Of everything he had imagined Snape would say, this, was not one of them. It seemed impossible. He wanted to rage, to call Snape a liar. And yet, somewhere deep inside, he knew that would be something Dumbledor would do, the manipulative old coot. _

_But could he do it? Could he trust the man he had hated for so long? Harry shook his head, pushing back from the table violently. The noise seemed to startle both men and Snape moved to stand as well._

"_I…" Harry whispered, his breath catching in his throat. He swallowed. "I need to think about this. Excuse me, and please show yourself out." With that, he ran from the room, stumbling up the stairs. It wasn't until he had slammed his bedroom door that he sank to his knees, hot tears falling down his face. Burying his head in his hands, he sobbed bitterly for the man he had admired, and the man he had despised_

"Harry…" Hermione's soft voice brought him out of his musings, surprising him in more ways than one. He realized he was sitting on the floor of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, his back against the cold wall. How he had gotten here, and when, he knew opened his tired eyes and looked up into the concerned brown ones of his friend. She knelt before him, a comforting hand on his bent knee. He covered it with one of his own, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

"I'm so tired, Hermione," he whispered, desperation in his voice. "Tired of thinking and hiding and searching. Tired of not trusting just about everyone. I'm just plain bloody tired." Hermione turned her hand over, lacing their fingers and squeezed. It was times like this that she felt so horribly helpless. What was the use of being the brightest witch of their year if she couldn't help her best friend.

"I know, Harry. And Ron does too. He's just a prat sometimes, spouting off without thinking. But you have to know we're worried. This whole scheme was shady from the beginning. How can you be sure we can trust Snape?" That was the question of the year, and one that had been hashed and re-hashed between the trio repeatedly since Harry had confided in them.

He just shook his head. "You weren't there Mione. You didn't see the look in his eyes. He was so broken." He bit his lower lip. He hadn't told his friends that Snape had left his memories as well, decisive proof that the Potions Master was indeed for the Light side. It had been those very memories that had convinced Harry to accept Snape's help. However, he didn't feel it was right to share something so personal with anyone else. Not even his best mates.

And yet, he couldn't feel guilty. He was following his instincts, instincts that had yet to lead him astray. With that thought, he climbed to his feet and walked over to one of the many mirrors. "I suppose I should get back out there?"

Hermione stood behind him, watching as he applied the concealment charm, his dark hair lightening and his eyes turning a deep brown. Satisfied with the changes, he glamour his scar and took off his glasses. Turning back to his friend, he took the cloak from her hands and offered up a smile in thanks, noting she had already completed her own concealment charm. She nodded. "Yeah, we've misses Charms already. And I, for one, don't relish a detention. Even if it is with Snape."

Harry nodded. "I wish…" he trailed off with a shake of his head and a sigh. Holding out his hand, he led her to the door. "Let's go. Ron is probably worried by now."

Throwing the cloak over the two of them, they crept out of the bathroom and down the hall. Cautiously, they made their way to Potions, hoping against hope that their luck would hold. With the Death Eaters in the castle, the atmosphere was tense and dangerous. Any unsuspecting student caught wandering could be subjected to not only Snape's sharp tongue; but if caught by one of the Death Eaters - far, far worse. Hermione was right. Snape was the lesser of all evils permeating Hogwarts this year.

"Do you really think your dream was prophetic?" Hermione whispered, pulling the cloak off of them and reaching for the Potions classroom door. Harry nodded.

"I do. There was something…different about that one. And if I can do something about it, I will."

"Then, I'll help you however I can." Harry pulled her into a swift hug before walking into the classroom.

"Thank you," he said quietly, once again reaffirmed of the love and trust he shared with his friends. Whatever the future held, he would face it. But he wouldn't be facing it alone. That alone eased some of the clinching pain he felt in his heart.


	3. Highly Confused

Disclaimer: Still not mine, even after all this time.

A/N: (Hides head in hands and cries) Oh...my... goodness. You all have my deepest apologies. It has been over 18 months since I last updated this fict, and it just kills me to the point of embarrassment. I won't really offer excuses, other than life and sever writers block happened. However, with the creative muses driving me forward in Perfect World, and Foolish Games, my other ficts are getting revamped and picked up again. It's nice to be back in the game again. So I do hope you enjoy. And if you are a return reader... gods I love you!

Warnings: Mentions of torture and blood, confused Harry, prat Ron, and softening Draco. I guess it might be considered a tad OOC?**  
**No flames, please. But reviews are welcome.

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**-3- Highly Confused  
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Ronald Weasley was the youngest son in a large family. As such he had been babied by his mother and slightly ignored by his father. He had endured countless pranks from his twin brothers and the nagging of his sister. The only thing he could say he had done out of the ordinary was to make friends with Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. It had been his good fortune to find the little boy on the Hogwarts Express and claim his hand in friendship. Sure, his siblings had followed suit, by, as a spoiled child would say- he saw him first.

With this friendship came adventure. Dangerous, life threatening adventure. At first it had been exciting, something to brag about. And then came the deaths and the doubts, and their friendship had been broken, then reformed, a few times in fact. He would like to say it was stronger. However, as the mornings conversation had shown, it was anything but.

He sat quietly in reflection for several minutes after the rest of his dorm mates and his friends had left. His accusations, made in a moment of anger and slight jealousy, not of Harry, but of the trust Harry now afforded Snape, were vile, something a Malfoy would say, not Harry's best mate. Hence he knew he needed a heavy helping of humble pie to set to rights the rift that he had begun to make in their still fragile relationship.

Not to mention patching things up with his girlfriend.

He cringed, knowing that could be the harder of the two to resolve. Contritely, he rose to his feet, freckled face set in a determined expression. Fixing his own glamor of dirty blond hair and hazel eyes, he straightened his rumbled clothes and left the room. Hopefully he could catch them on his way to Charms.

Mixing in with the throng of students roaming the halls, it was easy to slip in and out without drawing too much attention to himself. Considering the situation currently engulfing Hogwarts, it was a good trait to have. Years slipping away from the pranking twins had made him almost Slytherin, not that he would ever even think that way. Hearing the muffled voices of his fellow students flow around him, he kept his eyes and ears peeled for the pale locks of Hermione or the light brown of Harry's hair. His own dirty blond brush his neck and he raised his hand up to scratch at it. His hairstyle reminded him fondly of their fourth year. Hermione had merely rolled her eyes in exasperation when he had said so.

The plan was ingenious, really. Highly centralized glamour spells and a grey level Notice-Me-Not spell found in a book at Number 12 Grimmauld Place helped the Golden Trio move around Hogwarts' classes with relative ease. So far, only those in Harry and Ron's dorm knew the true identity of the three famous Gryffindor's. Well and Snape, Ron guessed. It was the Headmaster…Ron snorted mentally in derision at the unearned title… that had pointed Hermione in the right direction in regards to the spells. If not for the greasy git, they probably would still be digging through the books.

Ron winced, recalling all of the horrible work he and his two friends had put into getting that place even remotely livable. With the addition of Kreacher, the bumbling bad tempered elf, they were left with a still temperamental hippogriff. Buckbeak had refused to leave after last year. While they were in school, the overgrown feather duster was content to live with Hagrid on Hogwarts grounds. However, with the explosive events at the end of the year, and the Groundskeeper hut blown to bits, Buckbeak came home with Harry, and there he stayed. Bloody beast would only allow Harry near him, too. Summer had not been the fun he was counting on.

And now, he was stuck back here, hunting around for Horcruxes in his free time, and listening to his girlfriend's nagging about N.E.W.T.'s like they were the only thing he had to worry about. Life couldn't get much worse, he thought.

Hearing low tones coming from a corridor to his right, he paused, and smiled. There they were. "Mark?" he called, and heard the immediate pause in conversation.

"Gideon?" the response came, and Ron sighed in relief. They, in a further effort to conceal themselves among the masses, had adopted alias' for themselves. Distantly know relatives for Hermione and Ronald, and a Muggle boy from Harry's childhood for the Savior. It would take a lot of determined digging to unveil who they really were. More than most two bit Death Eaters would think to do.

"Is Rose with you?"

"Yes, Gideon, I'm here. Honestly, where else would I be?" she asked in irritation. Ron shook his head. The two removed themselves from the shadows, Hermione's hands crossed under her breasts and Harry's eyes guarded.

If there was one thing Ron was good at, it was apologizing. He had learned to grovel at his mother's feet at a young age. It had yet to let him down. However, seeing the deep rooted pain in his best mate's gaze, he knew that even with an apology, it would take a while before Harry could forgive him. And it was his fault alone. He gulped, running a hand through his hair.

"I... um..." he sighed, unable to hold that striking gaze for too long. "I was a total prat this morning. I never should've said what I did. I don't think you're... that way," he gestured helplessly.

Something dark sparked in Harry's eyes. "What way?" he hissed.

"You know... poofer, or whatever. And you'd never do something with that old bat. I was bloody mental to even suggest it," he responded, sure of his assumptions. A gasp from Hermione and a sharp pain in his cheek was all the warning he got before he found himself on his arse.

His hand flew to his bruised cheek, his mouth open with shock. Harry had hit him! Never in all their fights had the younger man struck him. Harry's eyes wild with fear and anger were wide and frightening to say the least.

He looked down at his fallen friend and then his own tightly clinched fist. Flexing it for a moment, he stared blank faced, then stuttered out a broken 'sorry' before running down the hall and away from his two friends.

Helplessly, Ron looked after him, then glanced over into the teary eyes of his girlfriend. "What just happened?" he asked dumbfounded.

Hermione shook her head, her curls catching the minute mid-morning sun in a golden halo. "I don't know," she whispered. "But I don't think you should have said what you did. Harry's been oddly sensitive about things lately, if you haven't noticed." She knelt down next to the Weasley and examined his cheek. "You'll live," she concluded. "Honestly, Ronald, when will you think before you open your mouth? You just apologized for this morning, couldn't you have waited at least a day before needing to do it again?"

Ron stood up, pulling his girlfriend into his arms and holding her close. "Do you really think we can keep pulling this off for the rest of the year?"

"You mean do I think Harry can hold up?" she translated. She snuggled her head into his chest, listening to the calming beat of his heart. "I want to believe he can. But he's not eating much, and he barely sleeps. And now this. I just don't know how much more he can take before he breaks completely."

Ron nodded, brushing his nose along her hair. "Then I guess we'd better find him before he does something stupid."

With a final squeeze, Hermione let go and stepped out of Ron's embrace. "Let's go. It's half through Charm's already. We might as well grab the Map and wait for Harry to finish class."

Ron silently agreed and pulled Hermione down the hall toward Gryffindor Tower. Mentally, they both hoped that their wayward friend would not pull a disappearing act, yet again. Unfortunately, it was most likely just a pipe wish. As time went on, Harry became even more distant. It was only a matter of time, they feared, before he broke completely. And then where would they be?

* * *

Classes at Hogwarts were strange and uncomfortable affairs for the majority of the student population. The Professors taught a curriculum that was unfamiliar and unwanted. Dark Arts was not just a core class anymore; it was the foundation for most of the lessons taught in any subject. Muggle Studies was a joke. History of Magic as biased as it could possibly get. And the punishments for loss of points, inattention to instructions, or supposed refusal to comply were swift and harsh. Ten times more so if you were anything less than a pure blood, or a blood traitor. Outright rebellion was met with torture sessions that no one wanted to imagine, much less talk about if suffered. The children were truly getting a taste of what life would be like under the rule of the Dark Lord Voldemort.

Needless to say, hope was a very vague feeling. When Harry and his friends had not shown up on the Hogwarts Express, that hope dimmed even more. Without the beacon of light most viewed the Chosen One to be, they sank into compliance and depression. Adding in the Dementors constant lurking and the Carrows' sadistic forms of discipline, it was hard to find a smile. Voices were hushed in hallways, and the common rooms, once the home to laughter, was now filled with shuddering cries. Fear shown brightly in the eyes of the students, even amongst the Slytherlins.

They had thought being of the Snake's house would afford them unlimited leeway. After a few rounds with the Carrows, however, it became very clear that they were held to higher standards than the rest of the school. Fed Dark Arts from infancy and pure blood intolerance ingrained in their very souls, they were expected to take up the mantle of 'educating' their 'inferior' classmates. Any and all ties previously made with other Houses were now penalized with cruelty.

And Draco Malfoy, who had once been held as the Prince of Slytherin, despising all things not perceived as a Malfoy's way of life, found himself routinely nursing his companions and younger housemates from hideous injuries. While admittedly a stuck up prat in past years, his seventh year was nothing but Hell on Earth. As the dark days lingered, growing worse with each scream the firsties gave in Dark Arts, and each tear shed by a child who had the misfortune of having the _wrong_ blood, he, for once, was sincerely wishing for even the slightest hint that Harry might win against all odds. As he handed Pansy another bandage and watched her wrap a second years' bloody hand, he wondered _'What have we gotten ourselves into?'_

The muffled sobs from the poor child before them was not a comforting answer.


End file.
